Desperate Times
by HecateA
Summary: In the eleventh hour, five Muggle-borns arrive at at Muggle professor's door in what may be their last chance to save their magical status. Oneshot.


**Wigtown Wanderers, Chaser 2**

**Prompt: **"Now this is exactly why the doctor changed his number on us." Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

**Additional prompts:** [Word] Aromatic, [Object] Pendant, [Song] Vagabonds — Grizfolk

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**Author's Note: **Enjooooy!

**Disclaimer: **The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

**Warnings: **Characters preparing for war, fleeing persecution

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**Stacked with: **MC4A; Terms of Services; Shipping War

**Individual Challenge(s): **Gryffindor MC (x4); Hufflepuff MC; Short Jog, Seeds; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Click Bait It; Golden Times

**Representation(s): **Position in the field of education

**Bonus challenge(s): **Unwanted Advice; Second Verse (Ladylike); Chorus (Pear-Shape); Demo (Pear-Shaped, Found Family, Bee Haven; Mouth of Babes; Tomorrow's Shade; Rock of Ages; Hot Apple; In the Trench; Queen Bee; Getting On)

**Tertiary bonus challenge: **NA

**Word Count: **1154

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**Desperate Times **

Dr Elizabeth May Williams was having a perfectly normal Monday, which was destined to be and currently behaving like any other Monday.

After twenty years in academia, her morning routine was perfected down to a tee. She woke, boiled the kettle, showered, dressed, and read through her correspondence and the paper over a cup of tea. This was usually done at the kitchen table, with the cat hanging around her ankles, but on especially nice days she could also be found on the porch. Then it was out the door, to the university, and after a quick stop to the nearby coffee shop, she was in her office with an Americano and a sesame seed bagel.

What she didn't expect was visitors before her office hours officially began.

Especially since she didn't… well, _recognize_ any of the five students standing in her door frame. None of them seemed familiar; not the curly-haired girl, not the young Black man, not the boy with the freckles across his cheeks, or the two young boys who looked similar enough to be brothers. They also all looked like teenagers, which she felt was quite odd.

Then again, she was very bad with names. And every year she told herself that her students were getting younger and younger…

"Hello," she said. "Come in… Goodness, I don't know if I have enough chairs for all of you…"

"I'm sure we'll live," one of the younger boys said.

"Don't be rude, Dennis," his brother said.

"Or what, you'll tell Mum?"

"Is this really necessary right now?" one of the older boys chimed in. "You're making a scene."

"Now this is exactly why the doctor changed his number on us." The first boy commented. "Well, the last one anyways. The one before that was just a twat."

"Because we were _difficult. _Let's try not to be difficult again because we don't want to scare away this historian too."

"Quit it, all of you," the girl said.

Elizabeth wasn't sure if it was appropriate for her to weigh in on the conversation. She played with the pendent around her neck shyly. Then the curly-haired girl smiled.

"Sorry for my friends, we're all… well, quite nervous. My name is Hermione. We have something of an odd question for you," she said. "We recognize that. But we're… we're very much interested in the history of witchcraft in Britain, and we know you're one of the top researchers in the field."

"Well, yes," Elizabeth said. She felt herself blushing, and continued to fiddle with the pendent nervously. "Thank you. Are you… are you students here?"

"No," one of the brothers said. "We're from another school."

"That's enough Colin," the older boy said. "Let Hermione ask the question."

"Thank you, Dean," Hermione nodded. She turned back to Elizabeth. "We were wondering, in the historical record, how the defendants in witchcraft trials proved that they were witches."

Elizabeth looked at them for a second.

"Are you in any of my classes this semester?"

"No ma'am," Dean said. "We're just curious."

She frowned further.

"Well," Elizabeth said. "Persecutors would use anything from a stray wart, to a particularly well-used broomstick, to a single woman's profession to construct a case for witchcraft. Ultimately, we can think of witchcraft trials as a form of gendered violence, one whose label was stretched and spun to fit the needs of persecutors…"

"Yes, but how did you _prove _you were magical?" Dennis asked. "That you were supposed to be? That it wasn't wrong?"

"Generally those accused of witchcraft did everything that they could to demonstrate that they were _not _practitioners of magic," she said carefully. "It was an offence punishable by death, after all."

"Of course," Hermione said. "But surely someone, somewhere, at some point tried to prove the opposite."

"I don't understand your question," Elizabeth said. "I'm sorry, but none of the men and women convicted of witchcraft in early European courts were _actually _witches, of course. Magic… isn't real," Elizabeth toyed with her pendent again, and Hermione sighed.

"Justin, I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I really thought there might be something in Muggle lore about this, but she's the last academic on our list and… she doesn't have an answer for us, either."

"Like all the doctors before," Dennis said miserably.

"It's okay," the boy who must be Justin said. "This was a longshot, anyways. It's like Dean said: if the Ministry does turn around and start picking up Muggle-borns, the courts will be so stacked against us that there's little we'd be able to do regardless…"

Elizabeth frowned again, but she was clearly no longer a part of this conversation.

"So what?" Colin asked. "We just… we just give up? We can't do that! That's letting You-Know-Who win."

"We won't, but this isn't how we'll win this fight," Hermione said.

"We can't _not _fight it, though," Justin said. "This is our lives. What do we do now, _leave _school? Leave our friends? Where will we belong? Where will we go?"

"Underground," Dean said. "Look, I'm not a fan of the idea of just roaming the country like some vagabond. I don't want to leave Seamus behind; I don't want to leave Hogwarts either. But You-Know-Who might not give us a choice. Sometimes the brave thing to do is to buy yourself more time to fight the good fight"

Dennis chewed his lips, frowning deeply.

"I really… I was really hoping that something from the Muggle world, something from the side of us they hate so much, would be able to help…" he said.

"Me too," Hermione said, taking his hand. "But this isn't a fair fight, Dennis. It's just not."

"What do you mean by 'Muggles'?" Elizabeth asked, no longer able to contain her curiosity.

The four turned to her.

"We mean those who cannot practise magic," Justin explained. "Like our parents, you see. That's our problem."

"Don't tell her more than you have to, Justin. It'll make this more difficult," Hermione said. From her sleeve she drew a… a stick? A wand? Elizabeth didn't know what to do. Colin closed the door of her office.

"We're sorry," Hermione said. "We had to ask. We're rather desperate to find an answer to all of this. But we can't endanger you by allowing you to keep your memories of this. We might be wanted, soon."

Elizabeth's heart beat in her throat. She was incredibly confused, _so confused, _but she instinctively knew that something bad was about to occur.

"What group did you say you were representing?" she asked again.

"The Muggle-born Student Union," Hermione said. "Unfortunately we're disbanding soon for the safety of our membership."

"Who… Safety? You're just children!" Elizabeth said.

"If only," Hermione whispered. She twisted her wrist slowly. "_Obliviate." _

An aromatic smell filled her nostrils—yes, coffee. More specifically her Americano. The Americano that she got with her bagel from the nearby coffee shop.

That was the last thing she remembered.


End file.
